


Holiday in Manacor

by jaekayelle



Series: Manacor [1]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaekayelle/pseuds/jaekayelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it takes a holiday in the sun and by the sea to reassess priorities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday in Manacor

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the Davis Cup tie in Amsterdam September 2012. Messes with the timeline a little, but only if you don't sit and think about it too much.

Rafa laid back in the sand and let the warm Mediterranean waters lap over his legs and arms. His eyes were firmly shut against the sun. He was very close to falling asleep there, even though he knew it was a strange place for a nap. He's spent the morning with his cousins, goofing around in the surf. The little ones had tossed him into the sea more than once, and he had let them, before their mothers had called them home. Now he was alone and found it was okay to be alone. 

Since he had returned to Manacor, under his enforced rest by his doctors, he had made certain he was surrounded at all times by family and friends. His knee problems frightened him, but only on the inside. Outwardly he remained his usual accepting self, dutifully following doctors' instructions, letting Maymo work him over, practising a little under Toni's watchful eye. But he worried and he waited. One day he would go back on the tour and do what he loved. For now he did his best to enjoy his time off. 

He sighed. Was he trying to convince himself?

“In Switzerland the children make angels in the snow. Is this the Spanish version of that?” 

Rafa sat up at the unexpected voice behind him. He twisted to the side to see if his mind was imagining the owner of that voice. 

“Rogelio!” 

He got to his feet, shot forward and crushed Roger Federer in his wet, sandy embrace. It was returned full force. The hug was not a normal Roger-hug, heartfelt but somewhat restrained. This time Roger clung to him and held him a little longer than he ever had, pressing his cheek up against Rafa's, warm and bristle-y. Then he released him and stepped back, more like the familiar Roger.

Roger was dressed similarly to himself, in shorts but with tee shirt, his feet bare. He wore sunglasses which hid his eyes. Rafa wished he could see his eyes. 

“Why you here?” Rafa asked. “I mean, welcome!”

Roger shrugged, not even the hint of a smile flirting with his mouth. That also wasn't normal for Roger. He always seemed to be smiling, unless he was angry. 

“I needed a vacation, you know.”

Rafa frowned. “What's wrong? Oh! New York! Rogi, I'm so sorry you lose.” 

“Yeah, thanks. I got your text, by the way. Sorry I didn't answer it. I...just didn't.” He seemed to not understand himself why he hadn't replied to Rafa's message. 

“Is okay. I understand.”

Roger took off his sunglasses and looked at him then, really looked at him. He had texted Rafa after the loss to Rosol at Wimbledon and it had taken Rafa weeks to respond to it, and then not really addressing it. Instead, they had exchanged messages about Roger winning Wimbledon, about Manacor and the sea and Roger's family and how they had missed seeing each other in Sardinia, apparently by mere hours. 

This was the first time they'd seen each other in person since London at the end of June. 

“I've missed you, Raf.”

“Si. Too long since last time.” During tournaments they tried to spend as much time together as possible, because they were so busy and time was so fleeting. These enforced breaks and time at home meant that their friendship was all the more precious when they did see each other. 

“To answer your question, I'm here to see you. I needed a break, to be with someone who isn't on my team. We're trying to fix what went wrong with my game. Paul thinks it was just a combination of too much time off in the middle of the tournament and Berdych catching fire.”

Rafa grimaced. “He should catch fire.”

Roger laughed at his tone. “Rafa! Bad boy, wishing ill of an opponent.”

“I not like him.”

His body went easy and relaxed at last and he slung an arm around Rafa's shoulders. “Tell you a secret. I don't like him, either.”

Their eyes met. There was a moment so brief that Rafa thought he imagined it, when Roger's eyes flared with something hot and deep and wild, and then it was gone. 

Shaking off the feeling that something very important had just happened Rafa said, “Come and sit. I get you something cold to drink.”

“I'd like that.”

They walked up to the sprawling home on the beachfront, with Rafa's hand on Roger's shoulder.

#

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly and quietly, mostly because the family was out until after dinner. They had the place to themselves and spent it wandering the beach and returning for iced tea or lemonade a couple of times. Not once did they speak more of tennis. 

Roger asked him about his knees. 

“Doctors say it Hoffa's Syndrome and a torn tendon.”

“Ouch.”

“Si.”

“Both of those?”

“Si. I not pick just one.”

“But you're healing?”

“Yes. A month or two and I can return to tour.”

“I hope so. The game isn't the same without you. The fans miss you, and so do the players. Especially me.”

“I try to come back soon.”

As night fell they went inside and Rafa showed Roger around the house. 

“Do you have a hotel?” 

Making a vaguely sheepish face Roger said, “I didn't book one yet. Mirka usually does that for me.”

“She not know you're here?” 

“I sort of left without telling her where I was going.”

“I no understand.”

Roger heaved a big sigh. It sounded like he was releasing a lot of pent up anxiety, rather than being annoyed with Rafa's confusion.

“I've been a pain to live with lately. She kicked me out.”

“You break up? No!”

“No, we're not breaking up,” Roger insisted, although there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. Rafa decided not to ask about it. “We do need a break from each other, though. Maybe just a short one. It's more for her sanity than mine. I was content to mope around the house. She wasn't as willing to put up with me in that kind of mood.”

“You were that upset by the loss in New York?”

“I don't think so. Well, partly, maybe. It's more that I needed time with my friend.” He stared at Rafa.

“Me?” Rafa was delighted. “You're always welcome here, Rogi. Always. Or wherever I am.”

His smile grateful and a touch relieved, Roger visibly relaxed. “That's good to hear.”

“Always welcome. You stay here tonight and for as long as you like.” 

“Okay. Thank you. A day or two anyway.”

“We go get your luggage. You...brought luggage?”

Roger's laugh was free and easy. “Yes, I'm not that stupid. Close but not that close. It's in the car.”

Rafa realized he was happier than he had been in weeks. Roger was here and they could hang out together.

#

After a light dinner of pasta and salad that they both put together, they ended up in Rafa's room watching a movie. They talked through most of it so neither of them knew exactly what the plot was about. Sitting side by side on the bed, sharing a bowl of popcorn, was the most fun Rafa had had in ages. They made fun of the movie to start with, but it quickly bored them so they started talking about their fellow tennis players, praising the good ones and the ones with promise, dissecting the games of all of them. Both were upset with Andy Roddick's retirement, even though his announcement hadn't been that big of a surprise. Kim Clijster's retirement was also sad but she seemed happy with her decision. They skirted around their own performances of the past year. 

Roger yawned and looked like he really needed to sleep. Reluctant to let him out of his sight for even a few hours, Rafa said, “Sleep here. With me.”

“Yeah?” 

“Just sleep.”

“Of course. I trust you.” The twinkle in Roger's eye made Rafa grin.

“You think I want you?”

“Why not? I'm sexy.”

Neither of them could keep a straight face after that. 

“Si! You are. But not curvy enough.”

“You're the one with the curves.”

“You call me girl?”

“Just saying that you have curves where I have manly...shapes.”

Rafa found that very funny. 

Roger hit him with a pillow. 

They fell asleep later, under a light blanket with the television still on. 

#

Rafa became aware of someone staring at him. He surfaced slowly from the depths of sleep marginally aware of something heavy lying across his chest and something warm pressed up against his side. 

When he got one eye cracked open he heard a gruff voice say, “Sleeping your life away. If you're not serious about your career I quit right now!”

“Toni.” Rafa's voice was scratchy from sleep. “Too early.”

“Never too early. And tell your boyfriend to go home. You have work to do.”

Beside him the weight and warmth withdrew. He watched in fascination as Roger rolled onto his back and regarded Toni with eyes as bleary as Rafa's felt.

“Buenos dias, Toni.”

Rafa could barely contain his glee when he saw his uncle realize who was in his bed. 

“Ro-” Toni's mouth snapped shut. His dark gaze darted from Roger to Rafa and back to Roger. 

“Good that you are here. You can hit with Rafael.” He turned abruptly and stomped out of the room. “30 minutes!”

#

Showered, fed and half asleep they trudged onto the court at the tennis centre 45 minutes later.

“Your uncle is mean,” Roger complained. 

“Si. Even more when we are late.”

“We are late. He said 30 minutes. It's nearly an hour.”

“He make us pay.”

“I'm not his nephew.”

“No matter. He make you pay too.”

And he did. Toni put them through their paces until both of them were sweating heavily. When he finally relented and let them rest Roger flopped down beside Rafa, sipping his water. 

“I didn't realize this would be a working holiday,” he grumbled.

Rafa chose not to answer that. There was nothing he could do when Roger got in a mood, even though this was a mild one compared to some. Secretly, he was happy Roger was there to help him practice, even if it meant pushing him harder than what he was used to doing. Rafa hadn't pushed himself, still mindful of his healing knees, but he had hit back as strongly as he was capable of doing. 

“This is like facing you in the final of a major.”

“We always play better against each other, no?”

Roger sighed. “Yeah. You're right. I just...I don't know.” He trailed off. 

“You call Mirka?” 

“I texted her last night. She said she wasn't too surprised that I came here, and that I'm not to come home until I promise to smile more.”

“Is nice request.”

“It is. I'm very lucky that she agreed to marry me.”

Right then Rafa felt a cloud cross over his soul, making him shiver.

“Raf? You okay?”

“Sweat too much. We sit too long.” He stood and looked at Roger, who gazed up in mild dismay.

“You're as bad as Toni.”

“Never as bad as he!”

They grinned at each other and Roger let Rafa haul him up by his hand. That they were practising again when Toni returned, was met with loud and sarcastic appreciation by their coach. Then he put them through their paces harder than ever. 

Roger complained that Paul Annacone would sue Toni next time he saw him. Toni retorted that Paul would only thank him. Rafa just soaked it all up happily. He was playing Roger, even if only in practice, and they were spending lots of time in each other's company. Toni did not offer any advice to Roger, though Rafa could tell that he wanted to say something about his forehand. Instead he criticized nearly every shot Rafa made. That was normal. 

At last Toni let them stop for the day. He walked up and shook Roger's hand. 

“You played well.”

“Thank you,” Roger said with sincerity. 

“Tell Annacone he has done a good job improving your game.”

“I will tell him.” 

Toni nodded, shot Rafa an indecipherable look and then left them alone.

They watched him go in silence a moment. 

“Rafa?”

“Yes?”

“When he woke us up this morning he said something about a boyfriend. What did he mean?”

“He just joke, no?”

Roger searched Rafa's face and then nodded. “I need a shower.”

“Si. We go now.”

As Roger turned away Rafa willed his racing heart to slow. 

#

Roger offered to take him out to dinner, but Rafa didn't want to share him with anyone, wanted their time together to go on uninterrupted, so he countered with, “You want people to know you here?” 

“Not really. Too many questions.”

“Si. Always with the questions. They never stop.”

“They never do,” Roger agreed.

They drove in silence for the remainder of the trip from the city. Rafa looked ahead to the house and muttered to himself. 

“What's wrong?”

“Family. Questions. I'm sorry.”

Roger looked up at the house and saw what Rafa had seen. What looked like the entire Nadal clan was seated out back pretending to be nonchalant, but Rafa knew that they somehow had found out Roger was there, and they were all waiting to see him. Everyone except Toni, whom Rafa blamed for telling the others. There were certainly more people there than actually lived there. 

Flashing him a genuine smile, Roger told him, “It's fine. I like your family and their questions are good.”

“I tell them no bother you.” 

“It's okay, Raf. They're good people. Not nosey, just curious.”

“You say so.”

Roger clapped him on the arm and led the way to the house.

#

The Nadals descended on Roger with hugs, and admonishments to Rafa for not calling and telling them they had company.

“He my company. Besides, he not want to be bothered.” That was not quite true. Roger had said no such thing, but Rafa figured he wouldn't mind the fib. Anna Maria apologized to Roger, who told her it really wasn't a problem. 

“I'm not hiding from the media and certainly not from you. I just wanted to see Rafa. He's been gone too long from the tour.”

Then the discussion turned to Rafa's knees, so he squirmed inwardly while everyone weighed in on the subject. Everyone except Roger who only expressed his concern and hopes that Rafa would soon be healed and able to come back. 

When they were finally able to escape Rafa found he was very tired. The practice had been more strenuous than he was accustomed to lately. Toni had been threatening to step up the pace for a while now, but Rafa knew he wouldn't go against the advice of the doctors. Rafa felt good, just tired. They went for a walk on the beach, but his body longed to lie down. Soon they would go in. Roger seemed to enjoy the beach, so Rafa reasoned that they would walk for a little while longer. 

“I sorry Toni worked us so hard today.”

“It's okay. I think I needed a good workout like that. I haven't been pushing myself much lately.” Roger flashed him a quick smile. Something was off, though. He appeared to be pulling back from Rafa now.

“Is okay? I mean us?”

Roger looked at him and nodded. “We're good.”

“But you not,” Rafa stopped. He didn't have the English for what he sensed. All he knew was Roger was not himself. 

Roger walked beside him on the beach in silence, his head down and seemed to be lost in thought. Then he roused himself, always polite, realizing that Rafa had spoken and he hadn't responded.

“I'm not what?”

Shaking his head Rafa said, “Nada. Is...nada.”

Roger's brown eyes, looking darker than usual in the waning light, flickered over Rafa's face before he looked away. He settled back into his silence. 

“I didn't quite tell the whole truth earlier, you know.”

Rafa stared at his profile, at the unmistakable features that made up Roger's face. “You no lie.” He was adamant about that. If there was one thing Rafa knew it was that Roger Federer was an honest man.

“No. I didn't lie either. It's... It's about losing in New York.”

When Roger didn't say more Rafa prompted, “Si?”

“A lot has happened this summer,” Roger continued after a brief pause. “Wimbledon was the highlight, obviously. Getting my seventh win there, getting back to World Number One and beating Pete's record at the top. Pretty good stuff.” He managed a smile, albeit a small one. “Cincy was great too.”

“Si. You bageled Nole in the final. Not many do that.”

“Novak played well, but not in that first set.” He paused again to collect his thoughts. “But by the time I got to New York I was tired and emotional. You know how that goes.”

Rafa grimaced. Emotion was his enemy as much as anyone's, but Roger had lost the gold medal at the Olympics because of it. He had seemed pleased with his silver medal, though, in every photo on the internet and video that Rafa had seen.

“Anyway, then Andy told me he was retiring. It wasn't a surprise, exactly. He'd talked about it a couple of times. He's been injured so much. But, somehow, it did catch me off guard when he told me before his press conference. And then, suddenly, Juan Martin was serving for the match and Paul and I raced into Ashe to see it and Delpo won and Andy's career was over. Just like that. Andy and I go back a lot of years, more than you and I, actually.”

“Si. I know.”

“And then I had to play Berdych and somewhere after we started, someplace deep down, I think my subconscious realized before I did that Andy and I were not going to see each other anymore. There would be no more tournaments for him. And that's what he wants now. He and Brooklyn can start a family, perhaps. I think that's a good thing for him. For them.”

Rafa was confused. “No understand. If it's good why you upset?”

Roger stopped and stared out into the waves, looking at something only he could see. Rafa turned and studied the horizon. Nothing but sea and sky. He turned back to regard Roger, waiting patiently for his friend to explain what was bothering him.

Scuffing the sand with the toe of his shoe Roger shoved his hands in his pockets. Finally he started to speak.

“Do you ever think about retirement, Rafa? How it will feel when there is no more tennis?”

“Si. This summer I think a lot.”

Roger's head dropped forward and then he looked sideways at Rafa. “Sorry. I guess maybe you have thought about it. I'm being selfish.” He started to turn away.

Rafa caught his arm, the fine hairs like silk under his fingertips. “Wait. Explain?”

Sighing quietly Roger nodded. Rafa let go of his arm and waited again.

“I'm just tired. I'll think more clearly by the time Shanghai rolls around.”

“Rogelio, tell me.”

Roger's brow furrowed and then he said, “Part of it is the exhaustion, part is losing to Berdych. I guess most of it is...that...Andy will go to Texas and I won't see him again. Much. Maybe never.”

There was a catch in his voice that alarmed Rafa. Obviously he was missing some important information. 

“Rogi?”

“Fuck. Okay. Here's...the thing is Andy and I used to be together.” His gaze settled on Rafa again. “You know?”

Roger was confessing that he and Andy Roddick had been lovers. 

“Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Feeling unaccountably jealous Rafa clamped down on his feelings. “How long?”

“We only...were together a few times. We both knew it wasn't a good idea. It was fun. It _was_ good. It just wasn't good for our careers. But it was pretty damn great while it lasted. We're still friends. I hope we can stay that way, but I'm afraid that time and distance will, you know, wear it down and then that will be gone too.”

“Not gone. It will always be in here.” Rafa placed his hand over Roger's heart, and then, keeping his gaze locked with Roger's, he touched the side of Roger's head, his hand resting there for a moment before sliding it downwards to cup his cheek. 

Roger swallowed hard. “I hope you're right, Rafafa.”

Rafa grinned at the nickname. “Of course I'm right. I'm always right.”

His attempt to bring Roger out of his doldrums worked and he was rewarded with a sunny smile. Roger rarely smiled with his whole mouth, keeping his teeth hidden, but sometimes, when he was with Rafa, he let loose with a full blown toothy grin. 

“Anyway, I think that's why I lost to Berdych. I was out of gas emotionally.”

“Just like at the Olympics.”

Roger agreed. “Just like that.”

“Stop doing that,” Rafa teased. “You are the Ice Man.”

“I think that name suited Borg more than me.”

“Well, you can become Ice Man.”

“Maybe I'll call up Bjorn and ask him how he did it. Get some tips on how to be frosty cold out there on the court and get the job done.”

Rafa shrugged. “You looked very mean at Cincinnati.”

“You saw me play in Cincy?”

“Yes. I watched all of your matches. Your game was perfection.”

Roger actually blushed at his words. He flashed a grateful smile. “I miss watching you play. Today was so much fun. I think maybe it helped settle me. I've been so...off lately. Out of sorts, you know.”

Rafa licked his lips. “Rogi? When you and Andy, were you with Mirka?”

Roger said, “Yeah.” His voice so low Rafa almost didn't hear him.

“And she okay with that? With you...being with a man?”

“I've always felt like I can trust you. Can I trust you, Rafa?”

“Of course.” Rafa narrowed his eyes, wondering what else his friend was going to tell him.

Roger turned away slightly, looking back out to sea as if searching for something. “I love Mirka with all my heart. She's my best friend. But she and I do not live as man and wife.”

“But the childrens, you have your daughters.”

“Yeah. Well, let's just say that Mirka had to work pretty hard to get pregnant. We couldn't risk going to a fertility doctor and having her implanted. Had to do it the old fashioned way. As much as I love her, I just don't, you know, love her that way.”

“So your marriage is for the press, for the media?”

“Yes. I felt something for her, liked her immediately, when we met back in 2000. We met in Switzerland, but it wasn't until the Sydney Olympics that I got up the nerve to pursue her. Had to be careful that she didn't go running to the reporters as soon as she found out I'm gay.”

Those last two words rang in Rafa's ears, but Roger was still speaking.

“Luckily she understood what I needed from her. She is my wife. She shows up for nearly every match. She coordinates my schedule, though not so much anymore because she's busy with the girls, and she is the mother of Myla and Charlene. To the world we look like the perfect family. And we are, except for the part where she and I don't have sex. The girls are part of the cover, but I wanted kids and Mirka really wanted them, so there they are. We kind of lucked out getting twins. They run in my family. Diana has twins too.”

“Si.” Rafa had met Roger's sister only once. Diana wasn't as much a part of the tour as the rest of the Federer family. 

“Twins kind of make the whole situation a fairy tale, sort of. But I love the girls and Mirka is happy. She gets to do whatever she wants when I retire. If she stays with me I'll be happy too. If she leaves me, well, I guess we'll deal with that if it happens.”

Unable to imagine a tournament that Roger played without Mirka sitting in the front of his player's box, Rafa shook his head. 

“If she leaves you it will affect your game!” He knew vividly how his parent's divorce affected him. He had barely remembered how to play tennis when his mother and father had separated. The thought of Roger Federer falling apart like that was too horrendous to contemplate. 

Roger shrugged. “We've already discussed what we're going to do when the girls start school. If we decide to send them to school in Switzerland that would mean that I'd be on tour alone. Can't say I'm going to enjoy that. Mirka has promised to stay with me as long as I'm still playing. As soon as I retire she'll re-evaluate the situation.”

Rafa felt like he was in shock and could only gape helplessly.

Squeezing his shoulder, Roger said, “Don't worry. Mirka is not a gold digger. She gets to live a very good life now and will continue to so if we break up, but she loves me as much as I love her.”

“But what do you do for sex?” Rafa blurted and then immediately apologized. “I sorry! Not my business.”

But Roger merely laughed. “I don't get much, unfortunately, but I manage.”

“With men?” Then realizing that was a dumb question given that Roger had just told him that he was gay. 

Slipping an arm around Rafa's shoulders and giving him a quick hug Roger replied, “Yeah, with men. Go ahead, ask whatever you want to know.”

“With players?”

“Not since Andy. You never know who you can trust. I find other guys.”

Rafa's imagination took off. He pictured Roger in a back alley with another guy on his knees, or meeting someone in a hotel room. 

Watching him closely Roger apparently guessed where his mind was going. “Rafa. It's never some random stranger. I'd rather be with a guy on tour than risk that. I hire my partners.”

Going for casual Rafa said, “Makes sense.”

“Like I said, I don't get much. It doesn't happen often.”

“That's why you so good at tennis. No sex to get in the way and tire you out!” Rafa grinned, hoping Roger would take it as the joke it was meant to be. 

Fortunately he did. He gathered Rafa up against his chest and held him for an all too brief time, before releasing him and stepping back. 

“I hope you and I will always be friends. I need you in my life.”

“Si! Yes! I want that too.” 

“Perhaps I should find a hotel tonight. I don't want to impose on your hospitality.”

“No! This is good. We spend time together. Make up for the long distance between us. In Manacor we are best hosts. We love our guests to stay as long as they want. Please, Rogi. Stay one more night?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

#

They walked on the beach for hours, until finally deciding to go inside for food. Miraculously the entire family had seemingly disappeared again and they had the house to themselves. So they made their dinner and ate it in the large, comforting kitchen. 

Swallowing a mouthful of shrimp Roger commented, “This is a great home, Raf. You can tell that a family lives here.”

“Is nice,” he agreed. “I like it here.”

“That's good.”

After they finished eating they washed the dishes and pans. Roger stood with his his hands on his hips and looked vaguely uncomfortable. Rafa wondered what had changed since a few minutes earlier. He waited. 

Then Roger said, “Perhaps I should sleep in another room tonight? Or on the couch in your sitting room?”

“No! You are guest. Besides the couch will hurt your back. It hurt mine when I fall asleep on it sometimes. You stay with me again.”

“I thought...maybe you wouldn't want me to, now that you know.”

“You are my friend, Rogi. You gonna attack me in my sleep?” He made a face at him.

“No,” Roger laughed. “I wouldn't do that.”

“Then come to bed.” He led the way to his part of the house. “You shower first. I wait.”

“Okay.” Roger dug in his luggage for shampoo and toiletries and whatever else he needed, and then went into the bathroom. Rafa laid on the bed with his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling not thinking about much and listened to the shower running. When Roger came out dressed in sleep pants with a drawstring and wearing a light t shirt Rafa solved the problem of what he would wear to bed. He went to a drawer and pulled out clothing and then took his turn in the bathroom. 

While under the running water, surrounded by steam Rafa looked down at his awakening dick. It practically had him trained by now to pay attention to it in the shower. That wasn't always a good thing when he showered in locker rooms but he managed. It wasn't like he was the only man on tour who jerked off in the shower. Maybe Roger had too just a few minutes ago? 

That definitely got a rise out of him. It filled and stiffened and was soon tapping him on the belly. He took himself in hand. A few strokes and he stopped. It was too weird to do it with Roger in the next room in his bed. Instead he ignored his hard-on and quickly soaped his body and then shampooed his hair. When he was done he reached for the controls and made the water run colder, watching as his erection wilted under the onslaught of nearly freezing water.

He got out and towelled off, rubbing vigorously to try to warm up. He caught sight of himself in the steamed mirror. Stepping towards his reflection he saw the sadness in his own eyes. He was tired of being alone, having a girlfriend in name only, not having a lover just for himself. He knew all about furtive meetings with male prostitutes. He'd done that himself more times than not. Sometimes his friends from the Armada helped out, but that was too strange to sustain in the long term. Besides, he and Feli and David all had to be drunk for it to work at all. No one ever talked about it afterwards, but he could see it in their eyes – in his own eyes at times like this when confronted by a mirror that hid nothing. 

He shivered and then pulled on his shorts and t shirt and opened the door. Roger lay in his bed, under the covers looking right at home there, like he belonged in the bed of Rafa Nadal. What a strange sensation that was. Rafa climbed in beside him. It was a large bed but they ended up close to each other, as if it was something they did often. 

They talked briefly before Roger asked if they could turn out the light. Lying in the darkness was somehow comforting. Then Rafa was overtaken by another fit of shivering. He pulled the covers up around himself.

“Are you cold, Raf?” 

“I warm up soon.”

Roger rolled over and looked at him a moment. Then he began to rub Rafa's arm. “You have gooseflesh.”

“Que? I no have goose anything!”

“The little bumps on your skin.”

“Oh. Si. This room is cooler than bathroom.”

Roger rolled over onto his back again. He didn't close his eyes. Rafa could see the moonlight coming through the window reflected on his face. 

“Rogi?”

“Hmm?”

“This morning. What Toni said about boyfriend. I'm...I like mens too.” His heart began to pound now that the truth was out. 

Roger turned to him again, studying his face in the semi-darkness. “Thank God!” And then Roger reached for him and Rafa went willingly into his arms. 

Long slender fingers stroked Rafa's face over and over before Roger leaned in and kissed where he had touched. His lips travelled featherlight over his skin making Rafa moan from the exquisiteness of it. When he settled on Rafa's mouth it all changed. They were overtaken with _wantneedmusthaveNOW_. Roger got his hands on the hem of Rafa's shirt and tugged on it, until his insistence broke through Rafa's haze of nearly mindless craving for more contact and he lifted his arms to allow the shirt to be ripped up and off his body. Next were his shorts, pulled down his legs. Rafa decided to be more proactive and did the same to Roger. Shirt, pants and then there was nothing but bare skin between them. Rafa ran his hands over Roger's chest, carding the hair through his fingers, rubbing the smoothness of Roger's belly and down between his legs to cup his sac. 

Hissing through his teeth Roger grasped Rafa by the hips and pulled him closer, as close as possible, and used his hand to line up their erections. Apparently Rafa's had forgiven him for drowning it in ice water in the shower and was now rock-hard and dripping with pre-come. Roger's hand gripped them both and stroked up and down, up and down, faster and faster. He bucked against Rafa's hand which was still between his legs, rolling the balls in his palm. Roger kept his left leg propped up to give him better access and repeatedly slammed his hips forward for friction, jerking his leg against Rafa's arm. 

Rafa leaned forward into Roger's shoulder, sucking and licking. His body heaved in an uneven rhythm, trying to find release. The fingers of Roger's free hand dug into Rafa's bicep. Then they stilled. And tightened. Throwing his head back Roger gritted his teeth and orgasmed with a grunted exhale, tendons in the long neck standing out. Rafa thought he had never seen anything so beautiful and followed helplessly into mindless ecstasy, sinking his teeth into the flesh under his mouth. 

Roger's leg fell inward, trapping Rafa's arm between his thighs. Drawing it out Rafa ran his hand across Roger's sweat-slick body and curled his fingers around Roger's neck. He dragged in lungfuls of sweet oxygen. He left his head where it was, on Roger's shoulder and kind of folded in on himself. He heard someone's heart pounding. 

The hand petting his hair felt damn good, so he pushed into it and closed his eyes. 

#

The sun was shining brightly when they woke up. Rafa was first so he took advantage of the privilege of watching Roger sleep. Toni's rude awakening had ruined that opportunity the morning before. Long eyelashes fell against Roger's tanned face. A hank of silky auburn hair lay along his brow. His lean body was easy and relaxed in Rafa's arms. 

As Rafa watched Roger slowly awoke. He shifted closer as if seeking warmth and rubbed his face against Rafa's chin, kind of like a big cat. Delighted, Rafa stroked his back and lightly drummed his fingers along Roger's spine. 

Opening his eyes Roger blinked once, twice, and then obviously remembered the night before. He smiled, soft and sleepy and happy.

“Hey.”

“Morning.” 

Rolling over, Roger looked out the window. “Yes, it is.” He grinned at Rafa and rolled back to kiss him. 

Rafa snuggled into the strong embrace. He was amazed that a man who looked as lean and wispy as Roger sometimes did, who was so graceful, who seemingly floated above the courts rather than pounded across them the way the rest of the players did, could be so powerful through the chest and shoulders. 

Roger moved his legs and trapped Rafa between his thighs. Running a hand up and down the outside one Rafa thought that Roger's legs were also deceptively more muscular than they looked. 

“Not just mean,” he said, kissing him on the lips.

Roger looked quizzical. “To quote you, “Que?””

“I teach you Spanish, no? Yesterday I say that you looked mean in Cincinnati. Lean and mean. You very strong, Rogi.”

“Not like you.”

“You no have big muscles, but they are there.” He ran his hand from shoulder to hip, paused, and then continued to Roger's knee. I like your body.”

“Well, I like yours too.”

“Thought you just liked my butt.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Charity match. You whistled at my ass.”

“Ha! I did. In front of everybody.” 

“Si. I always want to whistle at you across the net, but better not.”

“Next time we play each other we could make smoochy faces at each other and see what happens.”

Rafa giggled at that image. “I could wiggle my ass at you.” 

“If you did that I would be forced to forfeit the game, and then jump the net and ravish you right there on Centre Court.”

“You thinking of Wimbledon, no?”

“Si.” Roger grinned at him and then bent forward to kiss Rafa senseless. 

When Rafa regained his thoughts and his breath he said, “Is fantasy for you?”

“Maybe.” Roger's eyes twinkled. “What's one of yours? Roland Garros?”

“Clay is too dirty. I like grass at Wimbledon too. Softer on the back.”

“Oh? You want to be on the bottom?”

“Si. I can control from bottom.”

Roger's expression changed then, and Rafa knew he'd touched on something good. It was as if this crazy chemistry of theirs, finally unleashed, was charged with electricity. The heat between them, both physical and deeper, flared and burned. Their mouths clashed, noses bumping at the clumsy kiss. They tried again and got it right this time. Rafa bucked against the hardness poking him between his thighs. It made Roger moan low and quiet. Panting raggedly Rafa licked a wide stripe up his throat and the noise that drew out of his lover went straight to his cock. 

“I like it when you make lots of noise, Rogelio. Do it again. For me.” As incentive Rafa reached down between them and pumped Roger's rock hard erection. When he swept his thumb over the leaking tip he got what he wanted. Roger groaned loudly and swore at him. So Rafa did it again. 

Roger pulled his head back from trying to kiss Rafa's mouth off his face. His stare was fierce. Rafa's eyes widened. Apparently he had found a different side to Roger, one that was opposite of the calm, cool strategist on the courts. Roger was a risk taker at tennis, at times, but this man was letting loose fully. He was thrilling and almost frighteningly animal-like and Rafa reveled in the heady feeling that he was responsible for the change. 

“Do you have condoms?” 

Rafa pointed at the bedside table. Roger leaned back, Rafa still trapped between his legs, and dug in the drawer until he came up with a condom and some lube. He regarded both and then looked at Rafa.

“You still want to bottom?”

He nodded silently, meeting Roger's kiss with a needy one of his own. There was some rearranging of limbs and bodies, until they got the logistics right. Rafa lay back and drew Roger down on top of him, spreading his legs and drawing them back. 

Roger popped the top off the bottle of lube, poured some in his hands and warmed it by holding it a moment and breathing on it. Rafa watched wide-eyed. Then Roger leaned way down to kiss him again. Rafa gasped when he felt the first probing finger slide into his body. He pushed on the insides of his own knees and pushed them further apart. 

Their eyes remained locked as Roger worked in a second finger. Rafa was sweating heavily now. He bit his lip to keep from swearing. 

“Madre Dios. H-hurry!”

Rolling the condom slowly over his cock, Roger knelt over him. 

“Ready?”

Rafa gave in to the need to swear and let Roger have it in Spanish and French. When Roger entered him Rafa cried out. 

He was filled by Roger. Slowly sinking more and more into him, Roger was being very careful but Rafa wanted him now! He wrapped his legs around the slim back and dug his heels in, forcing Roger to move forward and go deeper. They both cursed at the sensation. 

“I don't want to hurt you, Rafafa.”

“I'm okay. Do it!”

Roger sank as far as he could go and then began to pull out again, only to push back inside. 

Meeting his thrusts by driving upwards Rafa yelled and pushed and yelled some more. Roger gave as good as he got. The bed rocked on its legs, the mattress moving with them. Scrabbling for purchase Rafa flung his hands out and grasped Roger's arms, digging his fingernails into flesh. Above him Roger's eyes were wide, his mouth set in a line until he began to pant. Sweat dripped off the end of his nose, splashing on Rafa's chest. 

Suddenly, Roger stopped moving. His hips snapped forward twice and then he collapsed on top of Rafa. Petting his hair again Rafa waited, wiggling a little desperately under him. After a minute Roger lifted his head and said, “Sorry. Sorry.” 

He got his hand between them again and quickly brought Rafa over the edge. When he tried to pull out Rafa wouldn't let him, enjoying the physical connection and wanting to experience it a little longer. Finally he pushed at Roger's shoulders and his lover eased out of him, and then pleased Rafa endlessly when he flopped down again and lay half on top of him. 

“Good?”

“Is good.”

#

Roger ended up staying six more days. They spent most of the time in bed, having moved to a house Roger rented down the beach so they wouldn't inconvenience the family and embarrass themselves. When he started getting texts from Paul and the third one sounded like his coach was getting angry with his absence, Roger decided he'd been gone long enough. 

Rafa walked him to his car. Both of them were unhappy that they were soon to be separated again. 

They leaned against the car, shoulder to shoulder, and stared at the sea. 

“We'll see each other soon.”

“Si. I try to play Shanghai.” 

“Not sure I'll be there, but I can visit if I don't play it.”

“Why you not play?”

Roger shrugged. “Still feeling like I need to work on my forehand before I compete again.”

“You could practice with me here. Bring Paul so he not get angry with you. He and Toni can talk tennis.”

Pushing off from the car Roger said, “If I don't play Shanghai and you don't play Shanghai come to Switzerland, or Dubai if I'm there.” 

“I could.”

“You don't sound sure.”

“Neither do you. Rogi, do you want us to be together again? Or is this just holiday in Manacor for you?”

Roger dropped his bag on the ground and turned to him. “God, Raf! Of course I want us to be together again! This has been the best part of my year, well, except maybe winning Wimbledon.” He grinned sheepishly. “Maybe more than that.”

Rafa laughed with relief. “Now you are honest!”

“We'll find a way to do this. We will be together again.” His expression was so sincere that Rafa nodded in agreement. 

“Si. We do this. It will work.”

Roger drew a deep breath. “Okay. I have to go, Rafafa.” He looked around and then kissed Rafa swiftly.

They hugged, clinging to one another for too long and not long enough. Then they parted. 

Roger got in the car, started it and waved once before driving away. 

Rafa watched him until the car was out of sight. 

He decided right then that he would play Shanghai, and that Roger would join him there, as a player or a visitor. They would make this work for the time being, and maybe someday they could be together for always.

 

# end


End file.
